


Sing, Little Hummingbird

by kittleimp



Series: Little Birds and Laughter [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Mutilation, Pre-Strex Kevin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittleimp/pseuds/kittleimp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desert Bluffs was not always owned by Strex Corp. Once, a long time ago, a man named Kevin sat in front of a microphone with shaking hands and a steady voice. In that final broadcast he would be answering an age-old question:</p><p>If a Voice falls in an empty room, does he make a sound?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing, Little Hummingbird

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much to [Emily](http://http://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecat13) for correcting my Spanish.

The lock rattles in the old, worn door. Kevin stares at it and pleads silently for the wood to hold. Just a little longer. Someone pounds on the window and tries to talk, but the bullet-proof glass is at least an inch too thick for that. In that moment he finds himself thanking the gods above and below for excessive protective measures. The blinds rattle as they roll down to hide the faces staring back at him. He sits in his chair and rubs his hands together, as if that would stop the violent shaking. The weather ends and he flips a few switches on his board, then takes in a slow breath.

“Listeners,” he begins softly. “Listeners, I know now that you cannot possibly be listening. I am speaking for the first time to only the void around us. Still, you would listen if you could, and that is what matters most right now.”

There is no paper in front of him, no script or guide to his show. He wishes desperately that he could have one. It would at least be something to hold. Instead, he shakes his head and takes in an unsteady breath again. _If I stop now, I will be admitting defeat,_ he reminds himself firmly. _I must keep going._

“We struggled for a long, long time. It has been almost six months since this menace first became apparent to us. Now... I do believe that we have reached the end of this war.” His tone is flat and lifeless. Mournful. Tired. “Desert Bluffs... it is not the end that we worked for.”

Across the radio, there is nobody to listen. There are people, yes, but nobody hears. They were once dedicated listeners and self-made rebels. Now they are smiling into the blinding light that burns through their corneas and turns their eyes to blackened coal. Kevin is aware of this. Still, he continues to speak. That is all he can do. All he could ever do.

“I am proud,” he announces. “The door won’t hold, I can hear it and its ominous creaking warning of impending destruction. When they reach me the war will end and we will have lost. It doesn’t matter anymore, my listeners. I am still so, so proud of you.”

Behind the door, a voice shouts. Tears leak out of Kevin’s eyes and he blinks them away, but doesn’t wipe his moistened cheeks. He has no reason to hide his upset. Instead, they drip onto his blood-stained shirt and smear the blood of... someone. How could he even tell? No, he knows. There is only one intern who left bloody handprints over his chest in a desperate attempt to stay on her feet.

“To the family of Intern Vanessa, I am so sorry for your loss. She was brilliant and served well, holding the Strex invaders away from me until I could lock the both of us into the studio. I cannot promise to avenge her, but I can promise that her memory will live on as long as my heart still beats.”

Hers no longer held the same panicked rhythm, lying as still as her body on the floor behind him. The claws of the beast split her throat open. Blood is splattered over her mouth from where she began to choke and drown while the remainder of it had flowed over her chest or oozed into Kevin’s dress pants. He had begged. Prayed. There was nothing that could be done for her, but she died without a smile on her face and that was the best hat he could do. A metallic clang comes from the door and startles him back to his speech.

“My time is up now, friends, and I do not know when I will return, or even if. The world will keep on turning and we will just step off. This is the nature of things. To all of our families, to our friends, those who might remember us, and those who will certainly not... this is us. We were brave.”

Wood splinters, shouting becomes louder. There are cries of victory from the other side of the door. Kevin finally wipes away the tears streaming down his bloody cheeks and chokes down a terrified sob.

“Listeners... oh, my listeners. I know you aren't listening anymore. Even if you can’t be now, you will always be listeners to me. So listeners, I'm so proud of you. I will see you again in another life,” he promises over the sound of the door finally crashing to the ground in pieces. “Goodbye, Desert Bluffs. Goodbye.”

He doesn’t have a chance to touch the board before an expressionless man in a blood-spattered suit drags him out of his chair by his hair. As he hits the floor, he lets out a startled and pained cry. It is only the first of many. He is pushed down and pinned by the first man as a second straddles his waist, holding a sharp knife for him to see. With one man holding his head against the worn carpet and the other forcing his jaw open with a bruising grip, he doesn’t even have a chance to beg. The knife slides against the corner of his mouth and begins to dig. All he can do is scream.

The work is slow, if not oddly meticulous. Two cuts are made, forcing his face into a blood smile that drips down his chin. Tears dilute the river of red and sting the wounds, but they already burn. Another man wearing the same suit as the rest takes hold of his head, making sure to keep him still. They do not speak, but their directions are clear. He remains still. The needle slips through his skin and draws his torn cheeks together, creating the same bloody smile with less flopping and bleeding. His screams have faded into hoarse panting by the time they finish the last one and tie it off. Every breath is a prayer that this will be the end.

Perhaps the gods have already turned away.

The needle slips through the lid of his third eye and draws a weak cry out of him. It scrapes carelessly along his cornea, but he can do nothing to stop the sudden shock and burn of pain, so he simply continues to shake. Years seem to pass before the thread is pulled one last time and the needle disappears from his blurred vision. His remaining eyes slide closed against the next horror they will drag him through.

“Kevin,” a familiar voice whispers from above him. Maybe, oh gods, just maybe this has all been a dream. When he opens his eyes, a dark face hovers over his with a soft smile on it. Nothing is fake there, it is honest. Not Strex. Not sunshine. Just an impossible woman in an intern uniform with her hands resting on his cheeks.

“Vanessa!” he gasps out, bringing a sudden jolt pain to his cheeks. The reality of the situation crashes down around him again. Her smile disappears, replaced by a soft frown.

“I have to admit, I thought ghosts were kind of fake. It isn’t fair that I’m stuck here. Then again, it isn’t fair that you’re stuck here.”

Kevin tries to reach for her, but his hands are pinned. The man straddling his waist stands up slowly and steps away. The others drag him onto his feet by his hair, then wrap his arms behind his back. He stumbles as he walks, halfway to passing out from the shock of the blood still pouring down his face. It burns in his eyes now.

“What now, Vanessa?” he asks, trying not to move his face.

“Nothing. Kevin, you said it yourself, your time is up. There’s nothing left to do,” she says as she floats along next to him. “You go where they tell you and look into the light. Become the puppet they demanded you to be from the start. Someday they’ll kill you. That’s how losing wars works.”

“Are you going to stay with me?” he asks, voice edging toward desperate as they drag him closer to the station doors.

“No, I don’t think I can leave,” she replies. “I’ll be here when you get back, though.”

“Vanessa-ah!” his voice freezes in his throat as he is thrown through the doors and down the front steps. She has vanished now, failing to reply when he needs the comforting voice the most. New scrapes have opened on his palms. Before he can make a move to escape, new grips set bruises into his arms as he is hauled to his feet and dragged forward again. The limousine is waiting for him at the curb with an open door. He falls into it, staining the interior with his blood.

“Kevin,” a new voice coos. “How wonderful to see you! I’ve had my eye on you for quite some time, my troublesome _pajarito._ ”

A hand reaches down to where he is curled on the floor. They’re moving now, though Kevin doesn’t remember when they began. Dark fingers lace into his hair and stroke it gently. His head is throbbing, his face is throbbing, he feels like throwing up. He can’t even find the power to pull away from that toxic touch. The hand does not remove itself either, simply moving rhythmically.

“We can put all of this behind us now. You are mine as I will be yours. I only ask one thing of you.”

“What?” Kevin asks, wincing at the pain it brings, then again at the pain that brings. His throat is raw and fresh blood is now oozing down his cheeks. A soothing hum comes from above.

“ _Cantar por mí, pajarito. Por favor._ Can you do that for me?”

He looks up, tears flowing, into the blinding smile of his new God.

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to visit me at [kittleimp](http://kittleimp.tumblr.com) on tumblr in order to appease the gods that watch over us all with a menacing gaze, or just because you'd like to say hello.
> 
> I'm interested to know, would anyone like to see some of post-Strex Kevin and this new DB!Carlos?


End file.
